


longing for the last time

by gsparkle



Series: fast forward [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsparkle/pseuds/gsparkle
Summary: After they imprisoned Hela, after all her sisters fell to inglorious deaths, the last Valkyrie swore she would not love again. Never again would she watch the owner of her heart crumple on the tip of an enemy’s sword. Never again would she kneel alone amongst a sea of slain friends, crying over the cold hand that once kept hers warm. Never again would she be helpless.





	longing for the last time

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: It’s time to fight the boss and if I don’t tell you now, I might not live to tell you
> 
> title: I saw her for the first time, dr. dog

It’s happening again.

She doesn’t _plan_ to fall in love again. After they imprisoned Hela, after all her sisters fell to inglorious deaths, the last Valkyrie swore she would not love again. Never again would she watch the owner of her heart crumple on the tip of an enemy’s sword. Never again would she kneel alone amongst a sea of slain friends, crying over the cold hand that once kept hers warm. Never again would she be helpless.

She should have fucking stayed on Sakaar. It was a terrible place to live, but then, she hadn’t been _living,_ really, just existing. People kept to themselves on Sakaar, no nosy questions about her drinking or the faded tattoo on her wrist. She drank and she scrapped and, on most days, she forgot everything she’d ever known; and if that wasn’t peace, well it sure as hell was still better than war.

But she couldn’t leave well enough alone; no, she _had_ to fight the scavengers off Thor, and she _had_ to fall into his particular brand of earnest heroism, and she _had_ to accept the white-grey armor he’d dug up like so many unsettled ghosts. And then, as if that hadn’t been enough, she’d let him talk him into taking half their Asgardian refugees off, leaving him to certain death at the hands of Thanos. She’d been content to be the last Valkyrie, forgotten to all tongues, and now she’s here, crash-landed on a Midgard reeling from the snap of one mad Titan’s fingers, and being introduced to Thor’s weird do-gooder friends.

She takes mental notes: Steve, the big, noble one with the sorrowful eyes; Okoye, the general fiercely defensive of Shuri, her brilliant, newly-appointed queen; Rocket, the savagely cranky woodland creature, and Nebula, his erstwhile crewmate with a similar affinity for sarcasm and firearms; and Tony, who stands with his arm flung around little Bruce’s shoulders with a face so punchable it takes effort to resist the temptation. Loss hangs heavy in the air: it’s been less than a week since Thanos destroyed everything, and nobody seems to be particularly capable of taking charge.

Until _she_ walks in. At first glance, she doesn’t seem to belong to this motley cast of heroes, diminutive and elegant; but then she steps to the front of the room and commands attention in a way that even Thor, a king and literal god, can’t always do. “Here’s what we know,” she says, voice as smooth and unyielding as a sword as she delivers information from around the globe. She earns more and more of the Valkyrie’s esteem as she steers the discussion around various pitfalls, distributes deftly balanced tasks, and finally invites Tony to “eat a jar of rhino farts” when he inevitably makes a snide remark.

“I like her,” the Valkyrie tells Thor.

In hindsight, this is her first mistake, because he grins and says, “I thought you might,” in that way that reminds you that he was raised with a trickster for a brother. Before she can stop him, he grabs her wrist and drags her to the front of the room. “Natasha! You must meet my new friend--”

She stops short. “We are _not_ friends.”

“--She’s one of the legendary warriors of Asgard,” Thor continues without pause. “The Valkyrie! All women, incredibly sharp swords, winged horses…” He trails off, perhaps lost in his childhood dream of joining their ranks.

The woman, Natasha, looks her up and down, her sharp green eyes lingering on the Dragonfang that hangs at her hip. “So where’s your horse?” she asks, a hint of a smile in the corner of her lips.

“Dead. Like the rest of my sisters in arms.” Probably the wrong thing to say, but perfecting small talk hadn’t been her focus on Sakaar. “I’m the last of us; you might as well just call me Valkyrie, everyone else does.”

Natasha tips her head to one side, her short blonde hair brushing her shoulder as her studious gaze sweeps over the Valkyrie’s face. “Do you have another name you’d prefer?”

There was a name, once, struck from the lips of her love by the goddess of Death. “No,” she says shortly, and turns away from the understanding in Natasha’s eyes.

There is much to do in the weeks that follow. Together or in small teams, they collect information from around the globe, catalogue the missing, connect survivors to resources. Infrastructure falls apart: Tony and Bruce go to repair it. Dictators decide to take advantage of the chaos: Steve, Thor, and Nebula show up to dissuade them. They track down allies. They plot their revenge.

And in between, they train. Thor’s team knows each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but there are new members, some of whom have never seen battle. Shuri designs weapons that make Rocket’s beady eyes glow, and he builds them. Okoye teaches Nebula the finer points, as it were, of spear usage. And one day, while the Valkyrie is trying to taunt the Hulk out of Bruce’s nervous shell, Natasha walks up to her and says, “Teach me to fight.”

“You already know how to fight,” the Valkyrie says. She’s seen it happen: Natasha can dance circles around Steve and slides under Thor’s lightning like the Midgardian game of limbo. She’s fast and powerful and deadly, can put a nasty dent in Tony’s armor, and the way she throws people to the ground with her thighs alone? _Well._ It takes a lot to impress the Valkyrie: after living on Sakaar for a few lifetimes, not much spikes her interest. But a woman, a regular old Midgardian, who can command a room and hold her own against a literal god? That’s someone worth a second look.

Natasha smirks. “But I want to fight with _you,_ ” she says, and this is the second mistake, which the Valkyrie makes all by herself. Thor and his big mouth isn’t here; it’s just the Valkyrie and her own self-destructive streak climbing into the ring. They smile, shake hands, circle each other like a pair of prowling cats. They’re of similar height and weight, but Natasha is lithe and quick, darting in to swipe with daggers flashing out of her sleeves.

“You fight like Loki,” the Valkyrie taunts, blocking the attack and kicking her back.

“That’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Natasha very nearly gasps, taking advantage of the Valkyrie’s laughter and jumping right up into her personal space. She can’t disengage this time, so she ducks one swing, another, and rams hard with her shoulder. Natasha’s fall turns into a tumble, hair flipping like the mermaids of Alfheim as she spins and attacks again, relentless. A crowd gathers; they fight on, the Valkyrie relying on her superior strength to keep her ahead of Natasha’s calculated stabs and punches. She dodges the next high kick with a grin; but the leg stays on her shoulder, Natasha pushes off her other foot with inhuman strength, and the next thing the Valkyrie knows, she’s flipped over and flying across the mat like a rag doll, Natasha pouncing to hold a dagger pointed at her throat.

“Odin’s shaggy fucking beard,” she gasps once the air returns to her lungs. “I yield.” Natasha’s self-satisfied smile is tinged with real pleasure, something that lights a fire behind those glittering eyes. They’re both breathing hard as they get to their feet and shake hands again, deaf to the small audience buzzing around them. “Are _all_ Midgardian women like you?” the Valkyrie has to ask.

Natasha’s smile melts into a molten smirk. “There’s nobody else like me,” she promises, and the Valkyrie could swear she puts an extra swing into her step as she saunters across the mats and out of the ring.

“I think you should follow her,” Thor stage-whispers unnecessarily, having shown up somewhere in the middle of the fight. “I think she likes you!” He throws a couple of thumbs up, bless the fool. What’s worse, everyone else is giving her similarly encouraging smiles and whispering to each other like this is the best thing that’s happened to them in weeks. _Oh god, this_ is _the best thing that’s happened to them in weeks,_ she realizes, and the idea that anything she’s done or said could give hope or happiness to anyone, let alone a whole group of people adrift in tragedy, is entirely too much to bear.

“I need a drink,” she announces, which is true, so she ignores the murmurs of disappointment as she stalks out of the training room. Outside the doors, though, she makes her third mistake: instead of turning for her room and the large bottle of liquor therein, she goes the opposite direction and finds herself knocking on Natasha’s door, unsure of whether or not she even wants her to be there.

“Spoiling for a rematch?” Natasha says when she opens the door. She leans against the frame, nonchalant and beautiful in the afternoon sun that stripes across her face.

“Um,” says the Valkyrie, still not having worked out what she’s there for. Natasha smiles like she knows this, like she’s known everything all along, and that single smile tips the scales. “Something like that,” she says, leaning in and capturing Natasha’s mouth with her own, just for a second, just because she can’t stand _not_ knowing what that smile feels like against her own.

It feels good, for the record. So does the cool hand Natasha places on her neck to draw her in and kiss her back; so does the way their war-calloused hands fit together as Natasha pulls her into her apartment and closes the door behind them.

\---

It’s happening again.

Thanos is back, and the world is ending, and she’s been here, oh, how she’s been here before.

The last time she was here, at the end of the world, she’d said nothing, and stumbled to Sakaar with a lifetime of regrets. If the world is going to end again, she’s going to get it right.

“Natasha,” she says, because it’s been two years and they sleep curled together like Yggdrasil’s branches, because even though they’ve been _Nat_ and _Val_ and sometimes even _dear_ or _love_ to each other, she can’t use anything other than her full name for something like this. “Natasha, I have to tell you something.”

It’s the end of the world and Natasha’s hair is red now, whipping around her shoulders as the portal begins to yawn. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she yells against the wind. “We’re not doing this, because we’re coming out of this together.”

She knows they won’t; this is the end of the world, after all. “Of course we are,” she calls back anyway. “But just in case--”

“Shut up!” Natasha insists. “I’m not listening!”

“But just in case,” the Valkyrie repeats stubbornly. “You’ll need my name, my real name, to find me in Valhalla, so we--so we can be together in eternity.” Her voice breaks. “Natasha, my name is Brunnhilde, and if we don’t come out of this together, know that I have loved you more than I knew I was capable of. You--you are--”

“I know,” says Natasha, her eyes bright. It’s the end of the world. “I love you, too.” They’re in formation with the others, the portal to Thanos stretching wider and wider; all they can do is squeeze each other’s hand tight.

“Don’t forget my name,” the last Valkyrie says, pretending the tears in her eyes are only from the dust on the wind. “We’ll find each other in Valhalla.”

Natasha looks over, bright and commanding and smirking as the day they met. “I won’t need it,” she promises, as if she can shape the future in her vision. Maybe she can. “We’ll find each other afterwards, here on Earth.”

“I hope you’re right,” the Valkyrie tells her. “I hope--”

There’s a flash of light, a swirl of pulsing energy, and the Wakandan plain that hosted the portal is silent but for the wind.


End file.
